When Systems Fail Us: The Cost of Exclusion in the Helping Professions
When you’ve experienced trauma in your life — and by trauma, I simply mean a dysregulated nervous system — it’s all too easy to internalise the belief that “I’m not good enough.”
These words don’t come from nowhere; they are often reinforced by the very systems that claim to support us.
Systems that call themselves “person-centred” and “inclusive” but operate within rigid walls of process and policy.
The problem is, humans don’t fit neatly within those walls. We are complex, adaptive, and shaped by our lived experiences. Trauma doesn’t follow a linear process, and neither does healing. Yet many of the structures we encounter — from education to employment to accreditation in the helping professions — are designed to measure people against narrow, one-size-fits-all criteria. If you don’t fit the mould, the message is clear: You don’t belong.
But what if the very qualities that make us “different” are the ones that make us most effective at supporting others?
What if lived experience, emotional intelligence, and the capacity to understand dysregulation from the inside are just as valuable — if not more so — than formal qualifications?
And what happens to the people we aim to support when systems exclude those with the deepest understanding of what it means to feel lost, overwhelmed, and unsafe?
This is the conversation we need to have. It’s not just about qualifications or accreditation — it’s about recognising the humanity in all of us, especially those who have learned to navigate and regulate their own nervous systems. It’s about challenging the idea that inclusion can be achieved through exclusion.
If we truly want to create person-centred, inclusive systems, we have to go beyond process and policy. We have to recognise that lived experience is not a limitation — it’s an asset. We have to stop asking people to fit into systems and start designing systems that fit people.
This is not just theory — it’s lived experience. My lived experience. And it’s why I believe that real inclusion must be built on understanding, not control; on compassion, not compliance.
As a person-centred counsellor with lived experience, I know firsthand the profound impact of trauma. I haven’t just studied it — I’ve lived it.
My journey has taken me through war-torn landscapes, displacement, poverty, domestic abuse, ill-health, loss and the relentless search for safety. As a youngster, I witnessed the pain of depression, grief and post-traumatic stress, survivors in their own right, but adults who were emotionally unavailable due to their own unresolved wounds. Victims of Victims.
As a child, our family spent time separated; grateful for the hospitality of relatives when having our own home was not an option. As a young woman, I faced partner violence that left me unconscious — a stark reminder of the cost of dysregulated rage in others.
For years, I lived in a state of flight — 53 addresses, constantly running, searching for safety. Each move wasn’t just a change of scenery — it was a complete restart. New jobs, new schools, new doctors, new dentists. Each shift required me to re-establish everything from the basics of daily life to essential healthcare and education. For anyone who’s experienced displacement, you’ll know it isn’t just about finding a new place to stay — it’s about a search for belonging and trying to create a sense of “home” in an unfamiliar world. The constant upheaval left little room for stability, forcing me to live in survival mode, always on high alert. The cost of these constant new beginnings cannot be understated. It’s exhausting, disorienting, and impacts your mental, emotional, and physical well-being. At the time, I didn’t realise that I wasn’t just running from circumstances — I was trying to escape from the internal chaos I carried within myself.
When I eventually recognised the patterns of behaviours and discovered that the true “escape” wasn’t from a place outside, but from the turmoil within myself, I turned inward. I learned to settle my nervous system, and began the work of healing from the inside out.
This personal transformation led me to help others do the same. I founded an organisation dedicated to providing safe spaces and therapy for those experiencing emotional turbulence and distress triggered by trauma, understanding — on a deeply embodied level — what it means to be dysregulated, disconnected, and desperate for safety.
For over 10 years, I’ve provided face-to-face counselling, received positive rewarding feedback and zero complaints about my practice. But much more than that, I care deeply and genuinely about supporting others. I listen with compassion, strive to understand their unique perspectives, and offer a non-judgmental space where they feel seen and heard. This isn’t just a job for me — it’s a calling rooted in lived experience, empathy, and a belief in human potential. Every practitioner who joins our organisation share our vision and values.
I have studied, trained, and earned many qualifications, including my Level 4 Diploma in Counselling. I am also due to begin my dissertation in January as the final part of my MSc degree at the University of the West of Scotland — a significant milestone in my ongoing academic and professional journey. My commitment to continuous learning reflects my deep belief that both lived experience and formal education have a role to play in building effective, compassionate counsellors. But most of all, I have lived it.
Our organisation strives to bridge the gap between lived experience and education. We recognise that true understanding doesn’t just come from textbooks or theory, but from life itself. By integrating lived experience with professional training, we aim to create a more inclusive, accessible, and human approach to support and care.
One of the ways we do this is through our trauma-informed framework, TRUST, which was developed with input from survivors. This model centres around five core principles that guide how we support individuals in moments of distress and dysregulation:
•T – Trigger: Acknowledgment and identification of the triggers that activate a stress response. When we can name it, we can tame it.
•R – Reassurance: Offering compassion, empathy, and emotional support to soothe the nervous system. Reassurance is the antidote to fear.
•U – Understanding: Cultivating understanding from those around us, including family, friends, and professionals, to prevent isolation and further harm.
•S – Safety: Establishing a sense of safety both within ourselves and in our physical environment, because without safety, no healing can begin.
•T – Truth: Practicing congruence, honesty, and transparency, ensuring that those we support experience relationships rooted in trust, not deception or control.
This framework was built on lived experience and survivor input, reflecting the real needs of those who have lived through trauma. It’s more than a theory — it’s a practice.
TRUST is a daily commitment to understanding, supporting, and empowering people to feel safe, seen, and heard. It challenges the traditional “clinical” model of care by centring lived experience and emotional safety as essential components of healing.
And yet, in the eyes of many professional systems, I am still not “enough.”
The System of Accreditation: Inclusion by Exclusion
Despite my qualifications, experience, and the depth of my understanding, I am often overlooked or dismissed for one reason: I do not belong to one of the “approved” accredited bodies, instead, I am a Chartered Fellow Member of ACCPH (Accredited Counsellors, Coaches, Psychotherapists & Hypnotherapists) — an organisation that recognises the value of lived experience alongside formal qualifications. This was a deliberate choice, as it aligns with my own organisation’s commitment to genuine inclusion.
Many of the so-called “inclusive” bodies claim to champion diversity, but their version of inclusion is conditional. It’s inclusion by exclusion. If you’ve learned through alternative pathways, such as online study, or if your qualifications aren’t tied to a specific institutional stamp, you’re shut out. It’s as if experience, wisdom, and lived knowledge don’t count unless they’ve been rubber-stamped by a select few.
But here’s the irony: The very skills that are most essential for helping dysregulated people — creating a sense of safety, understanding the nervous system, and offering authentic, non-judgmental presence — are not guaranteed by formal accreditation. A person fresh from university with no lived experience can access roles and opportunities that are denied to those with deep, hard-earned understanding.
This is not inclusion. This is exclusion disguised as professionalism.
Why This Matters
When systems define “worthiness” solely by membership to a specific body, they send a clear message: “You are not good enough.” This message echoes the internal narratives that so many people in crisis already carry. It mirrors the exact wounds we, as counsellors, are here to help people heal.
Those of us with lived experience often know this message all too well. We’ve spent years untangling the belief that we are not enough. And for some of us, these accreditation systems become just one more external voice telling us the same story. This isn’t just a professional issue — it’s a human one.
Many people who struggle to thrive in traditional educational environments can succeed through alternative routes, such as online study, self-guided learning, or mentorship. ACCPH recognises this. They allow students who have completed recognised qualifications to join, offering a pathway for those who may not have followed the “standard” route. Other accrediting bodies, however, close that door.
This is why it’s essential to question the criteria by which we define competence and professionalism. Experience matters. Lived knowledge matters. And yet, the current system often rewards theory over practice, and process over presence.
What We Need to Change
If the goal is to create a profession that truly serves people in crisis, then we need to start by rethinking how we assess competence. Competence is not determined by a logo on a certificate. It is determined by a person’s capacity to hold space, to regulate their own nervous system, and to offer authentic, grounded support.
Here’s what we need to consider:
Experience Matters: Can the counsellor recognise when they are regulated or dysregulated? Do they understand what it means to hold space for someone in the grip of a survival response?
Presence Over Process: It’s not the name of the accrediting body that calms a person in crisis — it’s the quality of presence and connection.
True Inclusion: If inclusion requires you to meet narrow, exclusionary criteria, then it’s not inclusion at all.
People in crisis don’t ask for a counsellor’s accreditation status. They ask for connection, empathy, and safety.
Learning to Approve of Yourself in a System That Disapproves of You
When the system tells you that you’re not good enough, it’s easy to believe it. After all, for many of us, it’s a message we’ve been hearing since childhood. But I’ve learned something else in my journey — a truth that no system can take from me.
You do not need external approval to know your own worth.
For years, I chased it. I ran from place to place, role to role, looking for someone to tell me I was good enough. But no system, no job, and no title will ever give you that. The only way to stop running is to turn within, to anchor yourself in your own knowing.
I have lived through war, violence, homelessness, and poverty. I have rebuilt myself from the ground up. I have supported others to do the same. I have studied, trained, and grown. I belong here — not because a system says I do, but because I know I do.
If you’ve ever been told you’re not enough because you don’t meet the criteria of an external system, I want you to hear this: You are enough. Your lived experience matters. Your capacity to heal and hold space matters. And while systems may fail us, we do not have to fail ourselves.
Repeat after me: “I Approve of Myself”